Thursday, April 30, 2009

I'm going to start by saying if you haven't read poetry since college (or maybe high school) you should start. There are so many great poems in the world just waiting to be read -- please give poetry a chance. Now, I'm stepping off the soapbox to share with you my selection(s) for my Poem in my Pocket. As I mentioned in my newsletter April is National Poetry Month and April 30th is Poem in Your Pocket Day. This is a day to celebrate poetry by carrying a poem around in your pocket and sharing it with your friends, colleagues and if you are bold enough, strangers. And please, share your favorite poem with me.

I'm going to share two poems I have taped on my bulletin board above my desk. These are from two of my favorite poets, Philip Shultz (who I studied with at NYU) and Mary Oliver.

My favorite line in The Truth is "those own a little are contrite and feaful of those who own too much," favorite in Daisies is "it is heaven itself to take what is given, to see what is plain: what the sun lights up willingly"

It is possible, I suppose that sometimewe will learn everythingthere is to learn: what the world is, for example,and what it means. I think this as I am crossingfrom one field to another, in summer, and themockingbird is mocking me, as one who eitherknows enough already or knows enough to beperfectly content not knowing. Song being bornof quest he knows this: he must turn silentwere he suddenly assaulted with answers. Instead

oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselesslyunanswered. At my feet the white-petalled daisies displaythe small suns of their center piece, their -- if you don'tmind my saying so -- their hearts. Of courseI could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale andnarrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know?But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given,to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly;for example -- I think thisas I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch --the suitability of the field for the daisies, and thedaisies for the field.

1 comment:

Anonymous
said...

Love your favorite poems, Teri. Here is one of mine.Katharine

To Be of Use Marge Piercy (1973, 1982)

The people I love the best jump into work head first without dallying in the shallows and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight. They seem to become natives of that element, the black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart, who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience, who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward, who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge in the task, who go into the fields to harvest and work in a row and pass the bags along, who stand in the line and haul in their places, who are not parlor generals and field deserters but move in a common rhythm when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. But the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. Greek amphoras for wine or oil, Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums but you know they were made to be used. The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.